Terms of Breaking
by P.A. Cage
Summary: '"Did I ever love you?" he repeated breathlessly, excitement lacing his voice. "Did you ever give me a reason to?"' Not everyone is what they show the world. Sometimes the strongest people are crumbling. Sometimes the kindest people want nothing more than to destroy you. And sometimes the hero is the guy you'd least expect.


**Terms of Breaking**

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Prince of Tennis.

 **Summary:** "Did I ever love you?" he repeated breathlessly, excitement lacing his voice. "Did you ever give me a reason to?"' Not everyone is what they show the world. Sometimes the strongest people are crumbling. Sometimes the kindest people want nothing more than to destroy you. And sometimes the hero is the guy you'd least expect. This is a story about how the darkness changed four lives forever.

 **Warnings:** Slash for sure. Major Dom/sub tones, rape and abuse, self-harm in various forms, language, exploitation, heart break, and tragedy. And the list will just grow from here.

 **Pairings:** It starts off with some pretty obvious Sensual Pair. But this will be changing later on. You'll just have to read to find out!

 **A/N:** This is the first story I've posted on here in too long. It's a fun little project I started when I had writer's block one day and now, rather than work on the story I set out to write, I came across it again and decided it wasn't too shabby. Pairings are up for debate so feel free to let me know who you'd prefer to see them both with and why, even if it's each other. Due to the nature of the story characters will be a little bit OOC. Please also feel free to make suggestions for the genre I list it under as the story continues.

This is looking to be a mid-length story. It's been a little bit since I wrote seriously and I don't have a beta reader so please forgive any mistakes. I hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading!

 **XXxXX**

"Did you ever love me?" Ryoma wondered listlessly, asking aloud the question that haunted him. He was resting against the smooth, cold pillows of his bed, nothing but a sheet covering him, the knot of lead in his stomach dragging him down into a sea of doubts.

Yukimura turned to Ryoma in surprise, his porcelain smile melting, showing the spikes of ice behind it. "Did I ever love you?" he repeated breathlessly, his arousal from moments earlier half returning. Ryoma noticed it with half an eye and released the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He knew the answer before it left his lover's mouth. "Have you ever given me a reason to?" Yukimura answered a question with a question, shifting himself on the silk bed so his weight was resting on a wrist, giving him the leverage he needed to lean over Ryoma.

Ryoma's breathing sped up unnoticeably, his heart beat rushing to his palms and ears as if trying to escape. His amber eyes had glossed over, the shiny look in them very obviously from tears. He'd expected that… but nothing had prepared him for hearing the words out loud. "But I gave you everything," he whispered hopelessly. He pulled smooth legs to his chest, ice cold hands resting atop his knees as his shoulders slumped and he hunched over tiredly. Every movement was slow and sluggish, like a million years had been taken off his life. Moments later a warm hand was caressing his cheek, prompting him to look into the eyes of the angel in front of him.

"Oh Ryoma," Yukimura sighed, like he'd been fitted with a great burden. "When have you ever been good enough?" He pressed a kiss to Ryoma's forehead, mocking the little comfort Ryoma took from it and shaking his confidence in what he knew to be the truth. That little kiss was all he needed to keep going, to hold onto his hope that Yukimura might love him someday; and Yukimura knew that. "It's just not in you."

The shards of glass in his chest melted, and all he could think was, _Even if I can't be good enough, can't I at least try? Or is it like a murderer trying to make peace with his victims – impossible and pointless?_ The warm dampness on his cheeks spoke his thoughts for him. "But—Please won't you let me try? Can't I make you happy?" His voice broke embarrassingly as he spoke and he reached a hand up to rub roughly at his eyes. Long, graceful fingers wrapped around his wrist and pulled, prompting him to look up at the man he would spend the rest of his life trying to satisfy.

"You're mine," was Yukimura's simple answer, and it spoke truly enough. Only on the first of never would Ryoma leave his lover willingly.

Ryoma didn't protest as Yukimura pushed him towards the bed. He didn't protest when sharp teeth clasped delicate flesh in their grasp and masticated until their owner tasted poignant copper. He didn't protest when warm fingers slipped inside of him abruptly, or something much bigger and more excruciating. He didn't even protest when, after they were done, Yukimura doused his cigarette on his chest next to a myriad of other raised little moons and suns. No, his protest didn't come until hours later, when Yukimura finally pulled away from the quiet comfort that had overtaken the bed.

"Don't go," Ryoma whispered to Yukimura's back, too weak to put up the fight he once thought he deserved. Yukimura only chuckled as he walked away.

Ryoma was left collapsed lifelessly in bed, devoured by memories he'd do anything to forget and wondering if this is what his life was fated to be.

 **XXxXX**

 _Two and a half years earlier:  
_

It started with a chance meeting at the street courts the autumn after Nationals. Ryoma never expected to run into the famed Child of God - the opponent who'd shared his apogee with him, created it even - so far from his home turf, but there he was, adjusting the strings of his tennis racket with his legs crossed like a king upon his throne. He looked so feminine but he emanated dominance from all the way across the courts. Ryoma recognized him almost as quickly as he realized the sounds of a match two courts over.

Ryoma wasn't stupid; he knew that if one of the Demons of Rikkai was all the way out here, at a no-name tennis court that hardly anyone had ever heard of, he was looking to play a game. Ryoma and Momo-senpai were the only ones from the circuit who frequented the place, and Momo-senpai wouldn't exactly be a challenge for the older boy. That could mean only one thing.

Ryoma was never one to back off from a challenge though – and that fateful match at Nationals had been the most liberating match he'd ever played, even to this day. Even after hundreds of more matches trying to reach that same limitless state again, spurred on by both Tezuka and his father.

"Yo," he called, tipping his head to the older player as he walked up to him, hand clenching his bag a fraction tighter in anticipation. He could barely stop from bouncing on his toes; he was so excited. He didn't bother holding back the beginnings of a smirk that threatened to overtake his whole face though. If this match went well he could say goodbye to all those late night training sessions with that stupid old man.

"Boy-a," Yukimura greeted in feigned surprise, eyes sparkling. "I hoped I might see you here."

"You were looking for me?" Ryoma's pulse sped up, humming in his ears and tingling in his palms. He firmly straightened his face, trying to gain control of his body again. He'd already known, logically, that that's probably what the other boy was here for; but to know that such a skilled player had intentionally gone so far out of his way to seek him out sent a spike of pleasure coursing through Ryoma's veins like heroin. He could never quite believe how good he'd gotten. _A match, ask for a match._ "Want to play?" he asked hopefully. He didn't know this, but the light in his eyes was dancing and glimmering in the bright sun.

A graceful smile curled the older boy's lips, bordering a smirk, before he stood. "Nothing would delight me more, Echizen-kun." The lean muscles of his forearm flexed as he swung the racket gently threw the air, mimicking a return. He held an arm out towards the court in a gentlemanly gesture, lips quirking briefly. "Shall we?"

Ryoma's heart swelled in his chest and his lips turned up in the first of many genuine smiles the older boy would experience – just slightly, though. He nodded and turned.

Four and a half hours later, Ryoma collapsed against a bench. His muscles burned and trembled with every step he took and he could have been swimming for all the sweat soaking his clothes. His ankles felt like they were about to crumble and he knew without a doubt that even the Tylenol he'd swallowed immediately after the match wasn't going to make a difference. What he really needed to do was stretch, to keep his muscles from freezing up; but right now just breathing was giving him difficulties. That was more thrilling than even his matches with Tezuka-buchou.

Despite himself though, he was still crestfallen.

After a long, grueling match Yukimura finally claimed his victory at 7-5. Ryoma had once again reached the Pinnacle of Perfection but by that point it was far too late in the game. There had been one game left; one game to reclaim his title as winner. But defeat left a bitter taste in Yukimura's mouth, and he wouldn't accept another defeat from this boy so easily. No matter how good said boy was. Yukimura had started out strong and only increased in strength with each game; Ryoma started well, but it had taken time to build up to his full potential. It was a recipe for loss.

This only fueled the perpetual doubt that started circling through Ryoma's mind after their first match. It was a fluke after all. Even using the skills of his fellow players he still hadn't been good enough to beat Yukimura. All those extra hours practicing, all the blood and sweat and tears, it all led him right back to exactly where he started; a loser. He needed to try harder, train longer, do better than before. His old man would be so gratified to be proven right. Just when it seemed like his efforts were starting to pay off they were proven futile once again…

"That was a good match, Echizen," Yukimura complimented generously. Ryoma thought he could detect a hint of pity in his voice and cringed. He was standing in front of the smaller boy, a towel resting on his shoulders, as he took a long swig from his water bottle. Neither of them was anywhere close to being out of shape – but the Pinnacle of Perfection took a lot more out of your body than any of Yukimura's arsenal. He was sweaty, tired, and out of breath, but the game was just beginning for him. _Yukimura is sick too,_ came the self-depreciating thought. _And his stamina is still better than mine. He still beat me._ His father would never let him hear the end of this. Once you won, you weren't ever supposed to go back. Was he getting weaker?

Ryoma felt the arctic panic sinking in and stilled his mind before looking up, head tilting just so like a curious cat. He wasn't used to after game chit chat; unless he was playing his own team. "Thanks," he mumbled, unsure of where exactly this conversation was going. He was having a hard time holding his emotions back and all he wanted to do now was throw himself into training. Plus, from what he'd heard through the grapevine, Yukimura was the sore winner type. Then again, Momo-senpai didn't have anything good to say about any of the Rikkai bunch and Sanada turned out to be an honorable guy.

Yukimura was good at reading people; of course he was. Reading people is what he did. Reading, strategizing, controlling. Ryoma was the first resistance he'd met; he couldn't quite get a handle on everything going through the freshman's mind. But at this point it was effortless to see how torn up he was over the match. It leaked into the tense line of his shoulders; the stiffness in his face, the imperceptible fluttering of his hands. The only question Yukimura wanted answered was why. He held a hand out to the boy, intending on helping him up, and said, "How about we go for ramen? My treat."

Ryoma looked at the hand in front of him, considering his options, but could physically feel his energy draining. He didn't want any fights. He didn't want any games. And Yukimura was the Fuji-senpai type. Unless he let himself be swept along in the wave of his personality, there would be games and fights and manipulation until he got what he wanted. He sighed. "Thanks Yukimura-san," he whispered instead, hand hesitantly grasping the older boy's as he stood.

Yukimura let loose a gentle smile, hair blowing softly with the wind. "Call me senpai." And he did.

XXxXX

Twenty minutes later found them sitting in a small ramen shop nearby, both with a steaming bowl of ramen and a fresh drink in front of them. As always, Ryoma chose ponta – strawberry since they didn't carry grape here. Yukimura, ever the responsible young adult, had a glass of fresh milk in front of him that he was enjoying equally as much as Ryoma enjoyed his own drink. They were sitting across from each other in a dingy little booth and Ryoma was doing his best to eat his meal, slowly and politely.

"Thank you for the food, Yukimura-senpai," Ryoma said between bites of his meal. For as rude as he could be on the tennis courts he generally kept a soft spoken demeanor in the rest of his life – something which was necessary for a number of reasons.

"There's no need to be so formal Echizen-kun. You can just call me Yuki-senpai if you'd like," the older boy offered kindly. However, the way he said it was a carbon copy of the way that Fuji-senpai and his father gave you choices; which is to say, he made it seem like Ryoma had a choice, but really if he chose anything besides what Yukimura deemed The Right Answer there would be consequences. Ryoma vaguely remembered Kirihara calling him by the same shortened version of his name as well, which only made it a little bit less weird.

"Thank you—Yuki-senpai," he stumbled over the new name, feeling awkward about calling someone so intimately. Even in America he'd still been raised by a traditional Japanese family. Calling someone so familiarly in this setting made his skin prickle with goosebumps and his fingers tingle. He wasn't even this familiar with his own family; with anyone, ever, for that matter. It didn't feel entirely right, but Ryoma figured it was just for the night. What were the chances he'd run into Yukimura again anytime soon? 'Yuki-senpai,' he scolded himself mentally, knowing that if he maintained the distance he longed for in his mind that he was bound to slip up verbally at some point.

"Think nothing of it," Yukimura reassured affably, letting loose a smile that would put angels to shame. If Yukimura was a girl, he'd be beautiful. But he wasn't – and that distinction was important to Ryoma. Ryoma hummed quietly as he ate, unsure of how to respond now, and almost regretting taking him up on this offer. "So tell me, how is Seigaku now that we're coming up on a new school year? I hear Momoshiro-san made captain?"

Ryoma let out a relieved breath, glad to be back on a topic he actually knew something about. "Yeah," he grunted out after he swallowed, the burger in his hands partially obscuring his face in preparation for his next bite. The sudden tightness in Yukimura's mouth went unnoticed by Ryoma. "It was a toss up between Kaidou-senpai and Momo-senpai, but Tezuka-buchou decided that freshman would be too scared to join the club with a captain as scary as Kaidou-senpai." Personally Ryoma agreed; he had only seen Kaidou-senpai's softer side through all the group activities he was privy to as a regular. If he was just any old freshman Kaidou would have scared the crap out of him, like he had Kachiro and Katuso when they first met him all those months ago. Kaidou-senpai was gentle at heart but no one besides the team – the Regulars, that is – were ever going to see that.

"Oh, that's right isn't it? It's just the three of you left next year. How do you think you'll do?" The skepticism was heavy in Yukimura's tone and Ryoma unconsciously curled his shoulders in, shrinking in on himself in shame. He was still far from being the pillar his team so desperately needed.

"We're strong," he defended weakly, not even attempting to take another bite yet. He'd quickly lost the small appetite he'd gained over the course of their conversation. "Tezuka-buchou and the others are still helping out and the new Regulars have a lot of potential." This was only halfway true; Tezuka-buchou and the rest of the senpai-tachi, particularly Inui-senpai, had worked hard even through finals to set up a rotating schedule to make the most of the little bit of time they had left at the school. Once exams were finished these last couple of weeks of school were mostly for the clubs. With their help, and the help of the Regulars they'd be leaving behind, the team had become a lot stronger as a whole. But not strong enough. Not good enough to make it yet. The other players had yet to find that pizzazz that made them great. And until they did the entire team was relying on the three of them; that's why Kaidou-senpai would be singles three, Momo-senpai singles two, and Ryoma himself in singles one. If they had those matches covered they'd make it… hopefully. At least long enough to get a couple of other players caught up to a decent level.

"Settle down Echizen-kun," Yukimura chided again. "It's just a little innocent curiosity." Ryoma nearly recoiled, his spine straightening and shoulders squaring as if against a magnificent storm. Was he really coming off as hostile?

Yukimura clearly caught the change in Ryoma's posture and vastly misread the situation. "What could I possibly have to gain from this? My old team is being left in Kirihara-kun's accomplished hands. I'm about to be a freshman myself these days." For a moment Ryoma had honestly forgotten about that; Kirihara was the only player on Rikkai's team that wasn't graduating to the high school division. The likelihood any of them would even get to see the courts this year was slim. _Is the rest of the team even staying together?_ he wondered, silently thinking about how his own team was being torn apart. He felt a twinge in his chest that he was trying not to think about at the thought of losing the only family he'd ever known.

Ryoma decided he didn't want to talk about it anymore. He didn't want to explain the real thoughts behind his actions or risk betraying his team and all these unmistakable mind games were wearing him out. He'd leave those to Fuji-senpai. "Did you make the Regulars?" he asked instead, honestly curious. Yuki-senpai was good – so much better than himself. He knew the other boy would go far.

Yukimura's fingers twitched where they were clasped tightly in his lap, resisting the urge to fidget in annoyance. "Please call me senpai when addressing me directly," he requested in a politely clipped tone. "Since I told you how to address me earlier you have only done so once." Ryoma froze, his blood pumping sluggishly through his veins as time stopped for a millisecond before he began scolding himself. As usual reluctance to follow a simple request drove him to ignore it all together. His lips turned down and the usually unnoticeable stress crease between his eyebrows stood out starkly.

"I'm sorry Yuki-senpai," he replied sincerely, still uncomfortable at being so familiar but determined to make up for his earlier mistakes. It wasn't a big enough deal to Ryoma that he'd raise a fuss about it. Maybe being familiar with someone would be nice.

Yukimura's gentle smile came back, even brighter than before if possible. Ryoma was taken aback by the sudden onslaught of his counterpart's angelic beauty. He felt a flush overtaking his face and could no longer meet the other boy's eyes. "Thank you, Echizen-kun!" Yukimura exclaimed happily. "To answer your question Rikkai does things a little bit differently. To even join the tennis team school needs to already be in session; our grades have to meet a certain standard, and we need a teacher's approval. We'll continue practicing with the middle schoolers until such a time as our team is ready." He exuded confidence. Ryoma couldn't help the spike of jealousy that welled up.

"That sounds nice," he said wistfully, loneliness threatening to consume him. He was going to miss the boys who'd taken him in and taught him what it meant to be brothers. Unfortunately life was taking the majority of them in different directions – even Tezuka-buchou, who wanted to be a tennis pro just like him, was taking a different path to get there. It might be years before they saw each other again after graduation. Ryoma was trying to hold onto these last couple of weeks together as tightly as possible, avoiding the inevitable conclusion of heartbreak that was to follow.

Ryoma startled and looked up when he felt a hand settle compassionately over his, clasping it gently; Yukimura's. He awkwardly met the eyes of the man across from him, balking at the concern on his face. Ryoma was a stranger, for all intents and purposes. What was he doing making Yuki-senpai worry about him? _Get yourself together!_ he barked internally.

"Are you okay Echizen?"

"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"He stiffened immediately when the hand that had previously been covering his own reached up to brush lightly along his cheek, collecting the couple of tears he'd shed without noticing. Ryoma almost wanted to cry even more; he was so embarrassed. What was he doing? How could he let the captain of their rival team see him so vulnerable? How could he let his dastardly emotions take the reins like this?

"There's no need to be embarrassed," Yukimura offered gently. "Kirihara-kun is going through the same thing. We're all graduating this year and he feels abandoned." Ryoma didn't even pause to consider how out of character that seemed for someone like Kirihara, nor why Yukimura might be offering him that information.

"It's not the same though," Ryoma burst out, frustrated. He didn't even notice that Yukimura had taken his hand again – and so easily too. "You're still going to be there!" This had been building up for quite a while. He had no friends apart from his team, and how could he possibly say something to anyone? No matter how he looked at it eventually everyone would find out and feel bad. Taka-san, Oishi-senpai, and Eiji-senpai especially, with their affectionate personalities. And he just couldn't bear to hurt them that way, to risk holding them back. He wouldn't.

"I'm sure you don't have anything to worry about Echizen-kun," Yukimura reassured him. His thumb was gently stroking the side of Ryoma's hand. "Your senpai-tachi know what's best for you." Ryoma never doubted that for a minute. They were so much more than his senpai after all; they had become his brothers too. The problem here was that he wanted them to do what was best for them and that hurt because none of it matched up. He had also never successfully expressed their importance to him. He was so stupid. Of course they wouldn't think it mattered if they kept in contact – but how could he say that now? After an entire school year of apathetic distance these next couple of weeks weren't going to change anything.

"Hey, hey," Yukimura interrupted his thoughts abruptly. He looked up to meet the other's eyes, only just realizing that breathing had become difficult. He was in the middle of a panic attack; something he'd rarely dealt with these last months. The last one was the same day that Tezuka-buchou slapped him, oddly enough. But he didn't especially want to think about that. "Everything is okay. Shh, shh." Yukimura was surprisingly good at soothing him. The soft look on his face and the way he held Ryoma's hands in his own, as if they were made of shattered glass that had been pieced back together – it helped to settle the waves pressing against him from every side.

"Thank you Yuki-senpai," Ryoma mumbled a couple of minutes later, after he'd calmed down and had his bearings back. He didn't know what had come over him, and looking back on it he felt ridiculous. Why of all times did he choose now to freak out about the senpai-tachi? "I'm sorry for freezing up like that senpai," he offered awkwardly. He wanted badly to pull his hands away, get up, and leave. But Yuki-senpai had been so nice to him, he couldn't possibly spit in his face like that.

"Don't worry about it." Yukimura's smile was blinding and forceful, saying, 'Don't doubt me.' Ryoma didn't. "Believe it or not you're not the first person I've helped out like this." He didn't clarify who it had been, and Ryoma didn't dare ask; he was more focused on the swell of disappointment in his chest. So he wasn't special after all. Though where that thought came from or why he even cared he couldn't tell you – and that made him more uncomfortable than he'd been in months. Probably since he walked in on Fuji-senpai messing around with a cute girl in the clubroom.

"I just—," Ryoma faltered, the words on the tip of his tongue. They were begging to explode out of him, but for some reason they just wouldn't come. Was it safe to talk to this man he barely knew about something so personal? How likely was it that even what had already happened would be used against him? If his team ever found out… or even worse, his father. He didn't think he'd live through it, as dramatic as that sounded. He looked down, pulling his hands towards him slightly before Yukimura's grip tightened.

"I know we don't know each other very well Echizen," Yukimura said seriously, "But I'm always happy to lend an ear to a fellow tennis player in need. We need to look out for each other, and even though it's probably not what you want to hear you remind me of my cute Kirihara-kun when I first met him. I asked you to call me senpai; and truly, I will live up to that title."

Ryoma bit his lip, considering, before he finally let out a long exhale and looked directly into Yukimura's eyes. His gaze lingered there, searching for something – what, he didn't quite know, but he did see sincerity, and that was enough to allow the swell of contentment sweeping over him now. "Do you… do you mind if we go somewhere else Yuki-senpai?" He licked the corner of his lips nervously, wanting to fiddle with his hands but unable to do so. "I don't really want to talk about this here." He didn't want to be overheard. Plus – the chances of him actually holding it together? Zero was his guess.

"Of course not Echizen-kun!" Yukimura told him happily. He was surprised the boy was opening up to him so easily, not that he would look a gift horse in the mouth. "I think we're just about done here anyway."

Once they were sitting on a quiet bench in a quaint park near his house Ryoma started pouring his heart out. He talked about how Seigaku were his brothers; more so than his real brother ever had been. How they encouraged and loved him the way a family was supposed to, how he had fallen for their odd charm and solidarity. They supported each other in every aspect; truly they were everything a team should be and more. And now… it was over. He'd let himself forget that there was life beyond the junior high tennis circuit and he was suffering for it now, badly. He was torn up because he didn't know how to express any of this; even moreso because he didn't want to hold anyone back. But without holding them back, expressing himself wouldn't do anything anyways. He was going to lose his family; he was going to be all alone again.

He wasn't sure when he started crying, he didn't even notice the tears until he felt a warm drop of liquid hit his hands. He didn't bother wiping them, knowing more would come. Instead he looked away, crossing his arms tightly enough over his chest to turn them white and pressing his legs harshly together. As long as it was just tears, he could handle it. He knew he could.

"Oh Echizen," Yukimura murmured sadly. He brought a hand up to caress Ryoma's cheek, wiping away tears as he did so. Ryoma was sure for a moment he just didn't know what to say; couldn't have expected this and had no response. But that assumption was one hundred percent wrong. "You're not going to be alone anymore. I swear it. Even when all of your senpai-tachi have graduated and started pursuing their dreams, I'll be right here for you." Yukimura's arms encircled Ryoma, easily pulling him into a surprisingly sturdy chest.

Ryoma's eyes widened, unsure of what he was hearing and confused by the sensory overload. This boy, who lived well over an hour away from him, and was on a rival tennis team to boot – he was going to help Ryoma? He was going to be there for him and listen to him? Ryoma had always been easily overwhelmed; it's one of the reasons he rarely expressed himself off of the tennis courts. He just didn't know how. But now, of all times, he had no idea what the right thing was. He'd never had to plan a reaction to something like this, never even imagined he might need to. So all that there was was him. The real him, his real thoughts and reaction.

His arms came hesitantly to wrap around Yukimura's neck as a desperate sob escaped him. He was mortified that this was happening, but he needed this. He didn't even realize how much he needed it until this moment. And here it was. He pressed his face into the side of Yukimura's neck, only half surprised when a warm hand cupped the back of his head and started threading gently through his hair. His shoulders shook and he could hardly breathe and it hurt. He didn't want his senpai-tachi to disappear. He wanted to be with them forever. And there was just no way for that to happen.

"It's going to be okay, Echizen-kun. I'll take care of you from now on. I'm not going anywhere." Yukimura continued to whisper nonsensical nothings to him, uncaring of the tears soaking his shoulder or the trembling ball of loneliness he'd just taken responsibility for. "I'll take care of everything."

When Ryoma eventually calmed down he was too embarrassed to ask questions he probably should have – namely, "Why?" All he could do was grow more astonished and disbelieving as Yukimura calmly ordered him to pull out his phone and then put his number in. Yukimura firmly reassured Ryoma that everything was okay and that he would be here for him – to please text him if he had any problems or needed to talk about anything. Yukimura was his senpai now, and would act like the best senpai you could imagine.

They parted ways then.

 **XXxXX**

Over the next couple of weeks Ryoma resisted messaging him. That night was like a dream bordering on a nightmare and Ryoma was too confused to revisit the idea. Had that even really happened? Apart from a new name in his phonebook, there was no proof. And Ryoma refused to message the number to find out if it was real. He could have collapsed on his bed after hours of compulsive exercising in delirium and typed a random set of numbers into his phone hoping for a mystical hail Mary to fix all his problems. Right? He just couldn't bring himself to risk the embarrassment.

And then Yukimura texted him. 'How are you doing, Echizen?' It read. He stared at it for nearly an hour before finally answering; debating on if he should even dare, or if simply deleting it and moving on would be the better option. He could come up with a million logical reasons not to do this, but the reason he finally overcame his hesitation and gave in was half rampant curiosity and half frenzied loneliness.

'What's up senpai? I'm ok. How are you?' He resisted the urge to press the heels of his palms into his eyes and rub vigorously. Could he have said anything more stupid? Probably not. He shook his head.

When Yukimura texted back he cut straight to the chase. 'Why haven't you messaged me Echizen?' Ryoma cringed and tried to come up with a good excuse, but what could he say? 'I thought it was a dream?' Could he possibly get any lamer? That's assuming Yukimura even believed him - he wouldn't believe him, that was for sure.

'I don't know.' _What am I thinking? Yuki-senpai is just like Fuji-senpai. That will never work on him._

Up until now Yukimura's responses had been almost instantaneous so it was a surprise when almost twenty minutes later he still hadn't received a response. Ryoma felt a knot of guilt sitting in his stomach; he should have tried messaging Yuki-senpai sooner instead of leaving him hanging. In the back of his head Ryoma knew all along that was no dream; that it couldn't _possibly_ have been a dream. And yet… he hadn't been able to accept the truth either. He felt like a bad person for snubbing someone who'd been so kind to him.

When Yukimura finally responded, all it said was, 'Meet me at the park. Bring your tennis bag.' Ryoma could have asked a lot of questions, but he didn't – he just obeyed.

XXxXX

Yukimura-senpai was sitting on the same bench he'd been sitting on when Ryoma first saw him. The difference was this time his tennis bag sat beside him on the bench, closed, and Yukimura kept his legs crossed delicately at the ankles. He was drumming his fingers languidly along his arm in what would have seemed like impatience with anyone else. When he saw Ryoma, he stood. "Echizen-kun," he said pleasantly, his tone devoid of any of the emotions Ryoma was sure were swirling inside of his head; he'd spent the entire journey here working himself into a frenzy over imagined possibilities.

"Thanks for meeting me Yuki-senpai," Ryoma responded awkwardly, unsure of what they'd be doing. A tennis match seemed obvious, but at this point did he even have the energy? He had just finished with Sunday practice – nine excruciating hours of drills that Inui-senpai insisted would help all of them with their tennis; yet he'd barely held a racket for an hour today. Add to that another sleepless night where he'd spent eight hours staring at his ceiling and a consistent and conspicuous loss of appetite the last week and he barely had energy to walk; he would be no match for Yukimura-senpai today. His old man taught him well though and he knew with a bone-chilling surety that he could never back down from a fight, from an opportunity to grow. Least of all from such a worthy opponent. It would be like turning down Federer or Nadal; unthinkable and inconceivable.

"Thank you for coming, Echizen-kun. I've been worried the last couple of weeks," Yukimura-senpai chided seriously. Ryoma had been vaguely prepared for it but it still sunk into him like lead. His eyes widened and struggled not to water, and he shifted uncomfortably in place. He'd never meant to make the older boy worry. Truly he hadn't even known if he should take him seriously.

"I'm sorry Yuki-senpai," he apologized genuinely, the tremble in his voice barely noticeable - but still observed by the ever sharp Yukimura.

"Now, I'm only going to ask you one more time. Tell the truth and I'll be generous. Lie to me again and I will teach you a lesson you aren't likely to forget," Yukimura warned. His disappointment and hurt were palpable and the air around him shifted. Ryoma was more uncomfortable than ever. He wondered why he had to wake up this morning; furthermore, why he'd had to wake up period. Life had been a proliferating force of stress and heartache lately and he had no answer for his senpai.

"I'm so sorry Yuki-senpai," he repeated earnestly, voice hoarse. "I really don't know what I was thinking." Ryoma hesitated, but figured there could be nowhere to go but up from here. "I didn't think it was real," he all but whispered.

Yukimura balked, then scoffed. His frustration had overtaken him and regardless of Ryoma's apparent distress over the situation he felt he was being taken for a fool. "Do you really expect me to believe that?" He clicked his tongue. "I expected more after all I've done for you, everything I offered you. I could have been everything you've ever dreamed of but instead you were arrogant and selfish and let your head get big." Had Ryoma been in any healthy state of mind he may have heard the devious undertone to Yukimura's words but as things stood he was so devastated by the words he could think of little else. It was exactly like Tezuka-buchou all over again. Ryoma's shoulders rocked with the shallow sobs threatening to overtake him.

"We're going to play a match," Yukimura warned, turning and stalking away. He walked to his bag, easily sliding a racket out, testing it without looking back. "If you win I'll forgive you, no questions asked." He didn't mention the consequences of losing but Ryoma could only imagine the worst.

The ensuing match was a brutal battle of sweat, tears, and mind games. Ryoma couldn't even out his breathing well enough to call on his stamina, nor could he focus his mind on anything but the interminable misery swirling through his head. He scored one point the entire match and it was undeniably a fluke; Yukimura's kind heart was all that had allowed him to take even that point.

When Yukimura called the game Ryoma froze like a lost kitten that's wandered into the path of a car. His failure weighed heavily on his shoulders, further instilling into him that he could never be good enough. Each match with Yukimura he only did worse; would it be like this if he played anyone else? He hadn't had a proper match with anyone but the old man in awhile, and he always lost to him.

And Yuki-senpai had been so kind to him… reaching out to a complete stranger, offering kinship and support in one of Ryoma's darkest times. He could tell the other boy was legitimately hurt by his poor behavior, and Ryoma didn't blame him. He'd be hurt too. _How do I possibly fix this?_ Ryoma lamented.

"Yuki-senpai, please," Ryoma called from across the net when the other boy started to walk away without another word. "Please, I'm so sorry. Please, what can I do to fix this? I didn't mean to hurt you."

Yukimura stilled, his head turning a click to the right - just enough for Ryoma to see the detached look in his eyes. "Anything, boy-a?" he almost taunted.

"Yes, anything," Ryoma breathed tearfully. "I'm so sorry."

After an eternity of waiting Yukimura's, "We'll see then," was all that was left behind to keep Ryoma company as he watched the strange boy disappear.

 **XXxXX**

A/N: I feel a bit stereotypical posting this, but I'm going to do my best to take it in unexpected directions! It's really a story I'm just trying to have a bit of fun with. Again, please weigh in on pairings. Due to the circumstances of the story most of Seigaku is probably out - but hey, if someone is popular enough I may find a way to work them in anyways. The memories of the beginning of their relationship will probably stop around chapter five or six; not to worry though, I'll be sure to make it interesting and include some real plot development along the way!

 **P.A. Cage**


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